


Sericulture in the Outer Rim

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Original planet, Pre-Canon, Triple Drabble, fashion appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Hux picks up his dry cleaning.





	Sericulture in the Outer Rim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



Bixians alone can be trusted with Bixian shell-silk.

A watery planet, Bixi is populated by various slimy revolting species which Hux loathes. Their skill with silk cannot be discounted. Growing larger than ewoks, Bixian mollusks attach to sea rocks via an injection of gelatinous protein. In the water, the protein solidifies into stunningly delicate strands of fiber.

Those strands are woven into the galaxy's finest silk.

This situation is tiresome. Hux is inordinately busy! One cannot bring a dreadnought into Bixian airspace whenever one's silk garments require attention.

Well, one _could_ , but one's Supreme Leader would doubtless have something to say.

*

Disguised as a textile merchant, Hux makes the visit alone. Early in the Bixian dawn, so that his sojourn will be as brief as possible.

The shop is so dim that he doesn't, at first, register any company. He strikes the chimes beside the counter repeatedly. No response.

"Excuse me, handsome, but I was here first."

"What?"

The speaker is an older man, human, notably dark, his hair silvered. He smiles; no doubt he finds himself very charming. "I was here first. Wait your turn."

"I have an appointment."

"As do I, friend. But Master Pelecyp is delayed." He raises his hands. "So wait we must."

"I cannot."

"No? Why is that?" He stands, cape of shell-silk flowing around him.

"Ah." Hux nods and sniffs. "Lando Calrissian, isn't it? Erstwhile pirate, rebel general, nouveau-riche baron."

Calrissian sketches a bow. "Impressive."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Should I?" When Hux bristles, Calrissian grins. "Merely that you seem...sub rosa, shall we say? Uninterested in drawing much attention."

"Yes."

"I respect that." He squeezes Hux's shoulder; Hux swallows a reprimand. Calrissian's touch is warm. "Join me?"

Hux glances around. Calrissian's narghile bubbles invitingly.

"Somewhere you'd rather be?" 

Hux sighs. "No."


End file.
